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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222145">flinch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_trevino/pseuds/delta_trevino'>delta_trevino</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Given (Anime), Given (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of The Scene, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Development, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, spoilers if you haven’t watched the movie or read up to chapter 28ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:47:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_trevino/pseuds/delta_trevino</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Akihiko moves at the same time, to stir the rice and Haruki flinches. </p><p>Just barely, a little to the right, a tremor going through him.</p><p><i>Fuck. </i> </p><p>Or, the art of small talk, or lack thereof, after too many boundaries are crossed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kaji Akihiko/Nakayama Haruki, Satou Mafuyu/Uenoyama Ritsuka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>flinch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE READ! this work deals with the aftermath of The Scene, which has very sketchy consent and can be triggering! please click off if that will make you uncomfortable. </p><p>also, everyone. you should <i> always </i> discuss consent before anything with your partner(s). before you do anything. you should also not be intoxicated. enthusiastic consent is key! please refer <a href="https://www.rainn.org/articles/what-is-consent">here</a> or <a href="https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/relationships/sexual-consent">here</a> to learn more.</p><p>disclaimer; i absolutely do not condone what happened in the given movie. it should not, and is not being romanticized in this story.</p><p>scales of intensity: </p><p>fluff: 2/10<br/>angst: 7/10<br/>lemon: 2/10 (it is implied, even though they almost never touch in this story)</p><p>HUGE TW: tags!! referenced/implied dubious consent and sexual harassment although there is no actual scene with that. cigarettes (mention)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko’s cooking fried rice for dinner when Haruki comes home. He’s using leftover broccoli and chicken when the door opens. Haruki’s shift must’ve ended early at the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m home,” he says, taking off his shoes. His eye bags are awful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back.” Akihiko turns to him. He still isn’t used to Haruki’s short hair. “I’m making fried rice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki nods stiffly, and it’s moments like these Akihiko feels like an outsider. He’s used to disconnected relationships and second-guessing from Ugetsu, but Haruki’s so warm. Or he used to be. He’s only expressive when they’re with Uenoyama and Mafayu at the studio. Even then. He’s been looking down too much lately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me.” Haruki’s not even that close. There’s a good two feet in between them along the counter as he reaches up for a water glass—oh, Akihiko should’ve offered him something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko moves at the same time, to stir the rice and Haruki flinches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just barely, a little to the right, a tremor going through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Haruki apologizes like it’s his fault. “I’ll just—” He takes the glass and spins away, the cabinets shutting loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My fault.” Akihiko’s glad the glass didn’t fall. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand the sound of glasses falling and breaking against the floor again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki doesn’t contradict him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko feels gross, and he knows he has no right to, he’s at fault for everything, but the air between them is so sticky and thick, so negative and Akihiko wants to punch something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps cooking the rice even though he’s not hungry anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko’s listening to a few drum solos, taping out the rhythm on his knees. Mafuyu and Uenoyama are improving at breakneck speed, he can’t afford to fall behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a break in one of his songs when Haruki comes in from the balcony, stamping out his cigarette. He doesn’t like smoking in his house. Akihiko hasn’t touched his pack in a week. Same with alcohol, even though Haruki has plenty in the fridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki drops the butt of his cigarette into the trash. He sighs. He’s been sighing a lot recently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akihiko?” Akihiko realizes he’s been staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Akihiko immediately looks to the left. His violin. He needs to practice today, even though he already did for two hours in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki shuffles past him, leaving a radius of a few meters in between them. The apartment feels like it’s closing in on Akihiko and way too spacious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going out. I need—” Haruki points to his wallet on the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Here.” Akihiko reflexively reaches for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Haruki’s voice is unsteady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko pulls his hand away, slowly. Right. Okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki edges around him, and even though Akihiko has no clue what the fuck is going on with his emotions, it’s painful to see that. To think he did something that made Haruki this flitty, this unsure. And there once was a time they collapsed on each other easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Akihiko steps towards the balcony. His hands itch for a cigarette he’s not going to have. “I’m going outside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, leaving?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just—” he pushes the screen door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki swipes his wallet from the counter. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be safe,” Akihiko says as the door clicks shut. He has no right to say that. No right to feel lonely or violated or angry. Even if he only remembers blurs, bits of what happened that night, he knows he’s at fault. He’s in the wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t even be around Haruki right now. He was a threat to Haruki’s safety. And he has the audacity to tell him to be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Haruki.” Akihiko shoulders his bag in the doorway of Haruki’s apartment. His chin’s sore from playing the violin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Haruki’s in his room. He spends a lot of time there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taking my stuff to a laundromat. Need me to take anything?” Akihiko knows a few of the local cheap places that have discounts on Sundays. The apartment’s communal washing machine broke and they’re waiting for the landlord to come fix it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thank you.” Haruki’s voice is muffled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? There’s a stack in the bathroom—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.” Haruki sounds assertive. “I said no,” he repeats. “Take-chan said I could use his until it gets fixed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Akihiko says although the conversation is already over, “I’ll be back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki-san, can you pass me the notebook?” Mafuyu asks from the floor of the recording studio. Uenoyama’s across from him, humming under his breath. They’re two hours into their session and those two are on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yeah. Sure.” Haruki picks it off the amp they aren’t using, towering with notebooks and guitar picks, and passes it to Mafuyu. “How are the lyrics coming?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got a few lines but the chorus isn’t quite there,” Uenoyama says. “I’m not sure if we want to change the key right before the last verse to add tension.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking F,” Mafuyu says, and Uenoyama plays that on the guitar for him. It’s a good transition. Maufuyu beams at Uenoyama, eyes big and sparkly at the chord. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a chord, you know how to play it.” Uenoyama’s embarrassed. Mafuyu’s still amazed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haru, pass me the new sticks,” Akihiko says absentmindedly, watching the high school lovebirds on the floor. The inspiration is high in the room today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki reaches over, but it looks like he’s getting smaller, grabs the box with Akihiko’s new sticks from the amp and places them on the snare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. No touching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Akihiko says consciously, taking the box from the top of the drum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mafuyu, try switching out some of the lines—you and Ueno have filled the book with ideas, right?” Haruki’s attention is somewhere else already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, we do.” Mafuyu shifts in legs, excited. Uenoyama flips to a new page, hands moving to another chord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko hears a crash from Haruki’s bedroom one evening. It’s been too calm today; Akihiko’s waiting for something to happen and for the wall between them to grow or shrink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps the ball in Haruki’s court. Since he stole it and ran away with it once, Akihiko leaves it for Haruki to decide when he’s okay with brushing past him, or having a conversation longer than a few words, or eating dinner quietly together. But at the noise, Akihiko runs over, abandoning his violin on the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki, are you okay?” Akihiko knocks on the half-closed door. He opens it a little, looking in to see Haruki on his knees, face screwed up and gripping his hands to his chest. “Haruki?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki looks over, and his face clouds. “Please leave me alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki.” Akihiko can’t leave with Haruki like this. Even a stranger wouldn’t do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said I wasn’t still mad at you. Leave.” Haruki’s light is so dim. Akihiko hates that it’s about to go out but he knows he’s responsible, and the dagger slams into his gut again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door creaks on his way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, did you need help with editing our website today?’ Haruki’s really been on the ball for given’s social network. They’re on the subway, coming back from a studio session. There are only a few passengers in this car, most of them watching the river outside the window or on their phones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just going to upload a few practice photos.” Haruki’s carrying a large bag in between them, plus his bass on his back. “Nothing major.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know if you need something,” Akihiko says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki lets out a whoosh, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says, unconvinced. Those words can’t carry much weight, Akihiko supposes. He’s failed too many times in the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s failed to help when it’s evident Haruki needs something. Akihiko’s always tangled up in someone’s sheets or drunk as hell, where Haruki’s smiling at bar customers or entering them in contests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he violated that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko grips the subway railing so hard his fist turns white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko’s failed to be there when Haruki’s needed something, and failed to not be there, to be absent, when he should’ve been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he talks about a website, a fucking website, like he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck is he doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki stands up and then Akihiko realizes it’s their station to get off the subway. He follows Haruki who only glances at him once to make sure he got off the train at all before turning back around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Haruki,” Akihiko says. Tries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.” His voice is flat. Maybe Mafuyu will let Haruki sing tomorrow just so Akihiko can hear it normally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akihiko?” Haruki says. Akihiko spaced out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the</span>
  <em>
    <span> fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> is he doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re in the same room together. They’re in the same vicinity. Haruki’s working on his computer at the dining table and Akihiko’s playing drums on a makeshift stack of books on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the closest they’ve been for an extended amount of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko doesn’t dare talk, even when Haruki starts tapping his foot to Akihiko’s beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you want apples?” Akihiko asks. They’re doing a grocery run together. It’s mostly empty, save for a few older ladies and a couple a few produce isles over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko never went grocery shopping with Ugetsu. It was always about the super highs and depressing lows, never the in-between. Never the mundane, always the genius and then the inevitable fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.” Akihiko knows Haruki isn’t a huge fan of apples. “Oranges are better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki picks up four oranges. “Get some spinach that’s on sale. I’ll cook that tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko sorts through the half-priced spinach for a bag that’s not too wilted. He hates the smell of bad spinach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches up to Haruki in the meat section after going around some teenagers. Haruki shops fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold it,” Haruki says, looking at the spinach and the half-full basket hanging off of his own arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Akihiko doesn’t miss a beat. He ends up holding the chicken drumsticks and miso soup paste too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki pulls out his wallet at the cashier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, let me,” Akihiko says. He pulls out his wallet. The cashier waits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko moves to put it down, where Haruki’s was, and then Haruki shifts his hand and wallet away swiftly. Akihiko’s actions stutter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki eyes him and presses his own wallet into the cashier’s hand. “I got it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been paying for all of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re tight on money, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s true. “It’s the least I can do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki laughs, once. With no humour. It scares Akihiko because it looks like Ugetsu, a year into college and when they started crumbling each other’s foundations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cashier bags the groceries. Akihiko waits and gives Haruki a wide berth to get two of the bags and leave two for Akihiko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Akihiko says as they walk out of the store. It’s cloudy today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get that for you?” Akihiko asks. Haruki’s carrying his computer, three notebooks, a dozen CDs for Mafuyu and some plug for Uenoyama’s guitar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright,” Haruki says, readjusting the pile. “Can you get the door?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I can.” Akihiko quickens his pace to open the door before Haruki gets there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki’s side brushes against the opposite wall as he passes Akihiko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki-san! Akihiko-san!” Uenoyama nods in greeting, already on his feet to take things from Haruki’s pile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Akihiko smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Haruki-san.” Mafuyu holds the CDs like they’re golden treasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki laughs and Akihiko restrains his head from whipping over to look at a smiling Haruki. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know which one is your favourite. Take-chan says he threw in a bunch from each genre so you can pick what you like and we can work from there.” Haruki stands next to Mafuyu, and Uenoyama, who’s already making piles of to be listened to now, to be listened to in the future, to be listened to before an audition but not now, etc, etc. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I listen to all of them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Haruki looks at the piles. “Start with these.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uenoyama shakes his head at his boyfriend, as Akihiko starts warming up quietly. Not loud enough to drown out Haruki if he says something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko wakes up in the middle of the night to kids yelling from outside. Once upon a time he would’ve leaned over the balcony and told them off. Instead, he flips over to face the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki looks up from his computer on the dining table. The blue light reflects off his face and tired eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you tired?” Akihiko asks. His throat’s rough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki shakes his head. He takes a sip of his drink. Probably herbal tea or water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help with anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to sleep, Akihiko. You need it,” Haruki sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki looks like he needs it more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re about to fall asleep on the computer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki’s tying resumes as an answer. It’s rhythmic, like he’s writing a report or a story he can’t stop. Akihiko closes his eyes, shifting the blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He floats in and out of sleep, waking up again when his neck hurts. He rolls it. The typing has stopped. When his eyes focus, Akihiko can see Haruki asleep on the table. His head is in his arms; he’s still sitting in his chair. He’s conked out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko slowly gets up, walking over to Haruki. It’s around two in the morning, if he had to guess. Akihiko closes the laptop softly and shifts it out of Haruki’s reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki?” Akihiko asks, still a foot or so away from him. Haruki looks at ease right now. Not focussed on his fingers for a bass chord, or cleaning dishes somewhat beside Akihiko, or checking the weather when it’s too early for the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His back is going to hurt like hell tomorrow, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haru?” Akihiko says a little louder, waving a hand in front of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki opens his eyes, and freezes at Akihiko’s hand right there. He sits up way too fast against the back of the chair and then starts blinking away the vertigo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, you looked uncomfortable.” Akihiko takes away his hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Haruki says. He sways when he stands up and Akihiko makes a conscious effort not to reach out for him. “I’m going to my room. Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki doesn’t move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko waits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki sighs, and then roughly pushes on Akihiko’s shoulder so he can get out of his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Akihiko steps aside immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki yawns, shuffling down the hallway. He just woke up, and even now, he looks tense. On edge. Akihiko hates it, hates it, hates it. And there’s no one else to blame but the man in the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight.” Akihiko hates how desperate he sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki turns around. He meets Akihiko’s eyes and nods. Once. “Night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko’s acutely aware of Haruki on the balcony with him. There’s a cigarette dangling from his right hand. It might go out from the wind today. The t.v. said this morning it was going to thunderstorm in the evening at around seven; so in a few hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you quit smoking?” Haruki asks, blowing a puff over his balcony. It’s the first unnecessary conversation he’s initiated in a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of.” Akihiko doesn’t know. He hasn’t smoked in a few weeks, but that might be because he’s surpassed the stress a cigarette can help. Maybe he’s gotten used to the screaming always in his head so he doesn’t need to try and sedate it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How</span>
  <span>—” </span>
  <span>Akihiko leans on the railing of the balcony. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How are you? How do you feel? How do you feel about me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Akihiko doesn’t understand how Haruki hasn’t exploded at him, fists or words because he’s in the wrong, he’s at fault. This is his fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was your day,” is what he lamely settles on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki looks taken back, but answers. “Good. Take-chan and I listened to Ueno and Mafuyu’s rough version of the song.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Even without official lyrics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ue’s always been good at pulling those out of nowhere.” And so much better since Mafuyu joined the band. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few beats. Haruki takes another puff of his cigarette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was your day?” he asks. Akihiko doesn’t dare take his eyes off the horizon, facing forwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was shit, honestly. He’s behind in most of his classes and can’t seem to grasp the new melody of his violin piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Akihiko says. “I dropped by the orchestra today to look at the sheet music.” It’s a few levels lower than his usual pieces, and Ugetsu would laugh at it, but Akihiko wants to try it. An orchestra is like a large band for classical musicians. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to play it?” Their conversation is crying for help. It’s waiting to be over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems fun to try, maybe as a warm-up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Haruki shifts, and Akihiko can tell he’s about to go inside. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, not yet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Don’t leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Haruki, wanna go for a walk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right now?” Haruki is taken back again, but waits for clarification. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Akihiko says, “If that’s okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk in silence. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not prickly either. It’s a medium that Akihiko is grateful for, and likely doesn’t deserve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki’s just a much better person.</span>
  <span> Not in a you’re-too-good-for-me way, in a you’re-a-decent-human-and-I’m-shit. Akihiko could’ve been on the streets right now. And instead, he has a place to stay and a person he can care about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko’s still taking advantage of him now, and yet Haruki accepts going on walks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko doesn’t deserve him. He knows this down to the center of his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them are the last two in the studio, which is pretty rare. Usually Mafuyu and Uenoyama stay here for hours. Today they excused themselves since Haruki said he wanted to use the plugs here and they can practice at one of their houses anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve been more in sync with their music than talking, anyway. Akihiko doesn’t mind testing out a rhythm to Haruki’s melody, even when he drops it suddenly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki’s working on a new song, one covered in hard riffs and lilting melodies. Right now, the notes crash into each other awkwardly, but Akihiko knows it’ll turn out with more musicality and heart than his pieces have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try the metal slide,” Akihiko says. Haruki’s going for that low note that shifts into a higher one on the bass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Haruki does, using the vibrato technique at the top. The sound is unbalanced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe like</span>
  <span>—” Akihiko reaches out to show him. Haruki flinches, taking a step backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Akihiko swallows as he stomach twists. That’s not uncalled for. Haruki’s pace, he reminds himself. Everything, Haruki’s pace because he fucked up and now there’s rightful backlash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki shakes his head, hair in front of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like that.” Haruki fiddles with the guitar strings, plucking one note, then another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, it’s just not easy anymore.” Haruki’s struggling with words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To…?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Be around me? Touch me? Look at me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Play music with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” That’s worse. And here Akihiko was; he thought their music was somewhat in sync. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like my speed, or my time signature</span>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Akihiko already knew it was beyond a technical problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Akihiko says, even though apologies are inadequate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Haruki plucks a note. “I know you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki plays a minor chord. “That’s the issue. I want to forgive you, you’re practically already forgiven, but that’s wrong. I’m still angry but I also have feelings for you. And I’m angry at me for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold my hand.” Akihiko places his hand palm-up on the drum kit. “Please,” he adds. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The distance between them feels worse than when he cut his hand cleaning the mug remnants on Ugetsu’s floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that easy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki doesn’t move towards him. Akihiko’s fingers curl in on themselves. He’s nauseous, looking at Haruki’s face. Haruki’s uncomfortable, he’s uncomfortable again, and this is still Akihiko’s fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haruki.” Akihiko tries again. “Please.” The snare vibrates under his knuckles, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. He doesn’t even care that he’s begging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haruki shakes his head. “Your hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a way, he does. Akihiko distinctly remembers holding Haruki’s hair that night in a braid, and now that’s gone. He touched Haruki with these dirty hands. They’re still the same. And he’s asking to do it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko needs air, to breathe, or he’s going to throw up at himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just—lets go from bar five, okay?” Haruki says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akihiko swallows down the balloon of guilt and regret, of ashen words he can’t say—he doesn’t have the right to say—that sit under his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” He counts them in. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s hard to play music with you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*cries*</p><p>get it? music is joyful for them when they're in love. it's hard for haruki to be in love with him.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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